


Still feel

by espinosas



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Haircuts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 04:55:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11456427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espinosas/pseuds/espinosas
Summary: “Christ.”“Do you really want me to respond to that?”





	Still feel

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiiiii. I found I've missed writing these characters an awful lot and this came out of nowhere. Loosely inspired by Daryl's bangs. I'm also posting this in the middle of the night so apologies for any typos!

“I want to cut my hair.”

It’d been voiced into the silence that the night brought, barely above a whisper. He’d been teetering on the edge of sleep again, skin sheening with sweat and throat hoarse, a hand in his hair and his head in Paul’s lap.

It’d been about Beth, Hershel, Denise. He didn’t remember anything other than bodies, but he knew who’s they were, waking with tears lining his lower lashes and Glenn’s name ripped from his lips. Arms had encased him instantly, sluggish but comforting and there all the same.

Paul’s fingers had paused when he’d said so, before threading through his hair once more. His voice was calm, was _always_ calm, always knew how to cool the blood thrumming through his veins. “You sure, baby?”

Daryl’s ribcage tightened around his lungs as he hummed, revelling in the scratch of nails on his scalp. “Wanna start over.”

Paul’s other hand, previously resting behind him to keep them balanced, tangled with Daryl’s own, soft and coarse. “Okay.” He ran his thumb over the circular scar at the back of Daryl’s hand. “What are you thinking of?”

“Anythin’ short.”

Paul let a breath or two go by before he spoke again. “Are you thinking like… Kris Jenner length or like Maggie? I hear that’s all Enid currently has on her resume.”

Daryl’s lips upturned. “Dunno.”

Paul’s hand continued in his hair.

The room fell into silence, save for Daryl’s laboured breathing. Paul’s eyes had adjusted to the restricted light the moon supplied, and he recognised the archer’s hair falling over a reddened ear, his eyes shut and face free of lines. He pulled Daryl’s hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to each knuckle.

“You wanna get to sleeping?”

Daryl shivered despite the warm air. “Yea, sorry for waking you.”

Paul tutted as he watched him make his way from Paul to the comforter, limbs languid, Bambi on the lake. One eye cracked open to watch Paul. The scout settled beside him, back to chest. Daryl’s lips tickled the nape of his neck and his arm came to rest over his hip.

“Thank you.”

Paul smiled as he felt his own eyes fall shut.

+

When he woke, the bed was empty, the space behind him still warm and his ears full of the thrum of rain dancing on the roof.

This was normal, Daryl rarely stayed to wait for Paul to wake, instead got out to his day, or got ready for it. Always had to keep at something. The war had assured he wouldn’t sleep through so much as a cricket’s chirping or sit still even when commanded.

Or maybe he just liked to let Paul sleep in. Daryl had, during countless arguments, expressed frustration over Paul’s need to help in the community. Every day that they weren’t on a run, he would be out fulfilling the needs of their people.

His eyes, still a little hazy, blinked once, twice. Settled on the form hunched over the edge of the bed, his back on full, consented display.

Yawning, he moved lethargic fingers over Daryl’s shoulder blade, pressed a kiss to the demon inked there, permanent.

He mumbled into skin, “Morning.”

Daryl hummed in acknowledgment, angling himself back into the lips on him. His arms, still dotted with water droplets, rose with goose bumps. Paul smiled, skin still buzzing with the drag of sleep.

“You sleep well?”

Daryl grunted, cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

Paul’s fingers travelled his torso and snaked around his abdomen. He cringed at the unexpected hoarseness. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Daryl’s answer came delayed, lazy as the morning sun and the kisses travelling the constellation that made up his back. “You were out cold, figured you needed it.”

Paul flushed, laid his chin on Daryl’s shoulder. He whispered a thank you into the archer’s ear, grimacing at the cold that dripped onto his own head.

“I would be mad about this _but_ I’m too amazed you showered voluntarily.”

Daryl pinched his forearm.

“There’s some hot water left for you.”

Paul snorted. “You’re too good for me.”

When he cleared his eyes of sleep and looked forward, he realised Daryl was already half-changed, donning cargo pants similar to his own. His bow was also at his knee.

“You’re going on a run?”

Paul’s voice was quieter than a moment before, just broken enough for his concern to slip through. His actions had stilled, grip loose around Daryl’s waist.

Daryl let his lack of answer speak for him, then. “Yeah, just a hunt for a couple days or somethin’.”

Paul nodded, let Daryl stand and pulled his hands back. He stood himself to stretch his full body, feline-like. “You’ll be safe?”

Daryl snorted, tucked hair behind an ear. “Yes, mom.”

Paul rolled his eyes despite the growing smile betraying him. Then he paused, pulled Daryl down by the back of his head, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape. Their foreheads rested together, and if Paul focused enough, he could hear Daryl’s heart thrumming.

He pressed his lips to Daryl’s, soft and quick and sweet, eyes fixated on Daryl’s. The archer watched him pull back and trailed after him, wanting, purposefully slow. Like he was savouring it.

And then Daryl’s lips parted as he breathed against Paul, heavy, welcomed Paul’s tongue while his face flushed. Paul’s fingers twitched, tightened his grip on Daryl’s hair.

Daryl’s hand burned at his hipbone, grip massaging the skin there that paled as soon as the pressure dissipated. Calloused hands travelled a smooth back, danced over naked, lean muscle.

Paul sighed as he pulled away, breathless and heaved out a laugh, half-serious. “Oh my God, just go. I’ll survive.”

Daryl had smiled, red down to his breastbone, pulled back much slower than needed. “You will.”

Paul repeated, eyes bright. “I will.”

He pulled Daryl’s vest from the back of the dining chair, pressed it into the older man’s chest. He ran a hand through his hair, cringed at the knot he got caught on.

Before Daryl headed out, he regarded Paul. “Think Maggie wanted you too, actually. She came before you got up.”

+

True to Daryl’s word, Maggie had appeared at the trailer steps a while later. What he hadn’t anticipated, however, was the shovel she thrust into his hand.

“Sasha needs help with fixing the water supply. Ours is workin’ fine but the livestock aren’t getting’ enough so,” She grinned from under her cap, “I need your help.”

“Good morning to you, too.”

She only smiled wider.

Digging up and replacing a water pipe with absolutely no previous experience, he discovered, was more difficult than he’d hoped. They were just outside of the walls of the community, he, Sasha and Eduardo.

Sasha wiped mud from her face with a gloved hand, the other on her hip. Paul mirrored her stance and attitude, rubbed some from his shirt.

They watched as the water spat up from below, pooling at their feet.

“Shit.”

Sasha snorted with a shake of her head. “Shit, indeed.”

Eduardo was back by the edge of the trench, toying with the one knife Maggie had supplied him with. _To protect yourselves,_ Sasha had only laughed into Paul’s shoulder at Eduardo’s multiple nods in response.

“The hell do we do?”

Paul pursed his lips with a hum. He looked back to Eduardo, pointedly; he dropped the blade from his hand and it rolled down a small peak of the ground. Sasha bit into a grin before calling Eduardo over.

The guard nodded. “Yes, ma’am?”

Sasha smiled, just sweet enough to be convincing, pushed her shovel into the earth. “As you can see, this isn’t really working out.” She winced as more wet mud slipped down into the pipe. “Maggie likes you, do you think you could tell her what happened for us when we head back inside?”

The other man went red at the mention of their leader but nodded. “Of course!”

Paul snorted into his palm.

When they did make their way back inside of the walls, after managing to stem the spray of water, Eduardo had already left the barn. Maggie looked up from where she was crouched checking over a foal. She ran a hand over its body and patted its side. She appeared, at least, to be amused.

“Taking advantage of Eduardo’s loyalty to cover up the fact y’all fucked up a simple errand is _cruel_.”

Sasha rolled her eyes. Paul took a comb from the hooks at the far wall, made his way to the foal’s mother with a tentative greeting. It fell through her mane, easy as anything. “Eduardo volunteered to, actually.”

Maggie watched the scout with his horse, watched her push her snout into his welcoming, flat palm and his growing display of easing. “You know you have this thing when you bullshit?” She tapped her own brow line. “Your eyebrow twitches.”

Sasha let out a brisk laugh from the doorway, she looked from the scout to the leader with increased amusement and crinkled eyes.

Maggie’s eyebrows raised, regarding Sasha with a squint. Sasha’s mouth slammed shut.

“No, see, Jesus is too nice to rat you out. You’re in the wrong too, Williams.” The foal at Maggie’s hand snorted at the offer of an apple slice. The leader’s smile when she looked up was more a baring of teeth than anything. “Tell you what, how about you make it up to Eduardo? You go apologise and I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

 Paul narrowed his eyes behind the protection of the horse. “Sure thing.”

Maggie stood, wiped the dirt from her jeans. She left the pair in the stable and walked out, leaning her arms on the low wall. “Oh, actually, I’d appreciate it if y’all could muck out all the pastures when you’re done here too.” Her hand came to settle on her swollen stomach. “Carson doesn’t want me doin’ anythin’ extraneous.”

 Sasha slid down the wooden panels, face-to-face with the foal. Its whinny almost seemed pitying, almost.

+

Daryl turned up three days later around dusk, hair in his face and arms bare of the jacket he’d left with, the gate’s gears grinding together as it shut closed behind him. Eduardo refused to even greet him from up on his post. With a frown, he parked his bike behind the barn.

The relaxed sun meant Earl was out working away, the clinks of metal on metal and spitting of molten were the first things he heard. Several other residents were out working, hanging out clothes on string lines, even Carson came to greet the archer, briefly, offering his help with his catch.

Enid spotted him first, shooting him an enthusiastic wave under green balloons, inflated and tied to the fence bordering the pig pen. Her expression faltered when he looked in the direction of the grave he knew was bare.

“I just- they were lying there. And the place needed cheering up, there’s like- there’s no colour around here. Sasha found a tank of Helium up in the attic of the house so she helped me blow them up-“

He cut the girl off, looking up “Looks nice.”

“Thank you.” She breathed out heavy, forcing a smile, “You didn’t happen to find anymore balloons, right?”

He snorted. “Nah, did get to see Carl though. Got you somethin’.”

Her face flushed, watched him pull a slip of paper from the bag over his shoulder. He pushed it into her waiting hands, chewed on his lip.

A grin lit up her face which she fought valiantly to hide, and failed. She tucked it into the pocket of her jeans and squeezed him in a hug that ended as soon as it was initiated.

“Thank you so much!” She secured the knot on the balloons again, once, twice, skittish. “Um, Jesus is over in Barrington with Maggie, if you even wanted to know that.”

He nodded, chewing over the flesh of his lip. “A’ight. Tell you what, I’ll bring Carl over next time I’m out.”

“Cool.” She nodded. “He missed you a lot.”

Daryl’s cheeks reddened, he dipped his head, hair falling in his eyes, shielding his face. “Right.” He pushed the strands away with a huff. “I wanted to ask you- I was gonna anyway. But you cut hair, right?”

Enid seemed amused, hiding assured giggles behind a smile. She tucked her own behind her ear. “Yeah, sure, I mean. I’ve done Maggie’s before.”

“Would you wanna cut mine right now?”

She shrugged, which he guessed said yes. “What were you thinking of?”

“Uh, just shorter.”

 “Awesome. I've got scissors in Maggie’s office, somewhere. Let’s go.”

+

Daryl wiped the steam clinging to the mirror and squinted a bit at his reflection. His mouth wore into a thin line, lips white under the pressure of him worrying at them. His eyes, tired but not exhausted, just enough to notice he’d fallen to nightmares too often to count. They cast down, almost in shame, met with shaking hands.

His hair splayed across his head, each at different, uneven lengths, like frayed rope. It was shorter than it had been in years, since the prison, since before his brother and Hershel. He could see his face, clear as ever, framed by jagged hair. It was damp, beginning to curl around his ears.

He took a shaky breath, relieved, shocked. He nodded to himself, looked back up to the mirror. Paul’s reflection behind him made him jump.

“Christ.”

He watched Paul smile in the mirror. “Do you really want me to respond to that?”

Daryl didn’t answer.

The scout pressed a kiss to his clothed shoulder, prolonged. He curled a lock around his index. His voice was softer, free of any humour. “I like it.”

Daryl heaved out a breath he didn’t realised he was holding, shook his head. “Its fucking awful.”

“It is.” Paul turned to look up at him, wide eyes wet. He pulled his hand back, ran his thumb back and forth over Daryl’s cheek, hand gentle on his neck. “I still like it.”

Daryl chewed on the inner flesh of his cheek, focused on the moisture lining Paul’s eyes and the warmth of his skin. He felt exhausted, then, let his forehead fall onto Paul’s shoulder. Paul pulled him closer in silent motion, ran tender hands in a circle on Daryl’s back.

Paul felt his shoulder damp, Daryl’s sniffles that he tried to dismiss deafening in the silent room. The scout pressed soft kisses to his jaw, below his ear, his hair.

“You’re alright,” Another kiss, to the temple, “You want me to sort it?”

Daryl hummed into his neck. “Please.”

Paul pulled back, walked from the room to find a pair of scissors he knew resided in the desk in the front of the trailer. Daryl listened to the soft padding of bare feet, the rummaging between useless shit Paul refused to part with and things of actual importance. He came back, scissors in hand.

Daryl wiped at his eyes, allowed Paul to navigate him back onto the lid of the toilet seat behind them. “No looking ‘til the end result. Deal?”

Daryl scoffed, half-hearted, and Paul’s face brightened.

Paul’s soothing fingers in his hair, scratching at his scalp, felt incredible. Daryl just about registered the hair that fell to the floor, the only sound being Paul’s breathy humming to an unfamiliar song. Paul pushed what fringe was left up from his forehead, smiled down at him as he cut down at an angle.

His smile only widened when they got to a bottom layer. He sucked his lip between his teeth, cheeks pink. “You-“ He regained a chuckle, “Never really noticed how adorable your ears are.”

Daryl flicked Paul’s own, feathery hair tucked behind it. Paul batted at his forearm. “I’m near enough done.”

The archer cleared his throat. “Why ain’t you ever cut your own?”

Paul didn’t pause in his action as he replied. “When have you ever complained about my hair?”

The tip of Daryl's ears turned red.

“Besides, I like it. What would everybody call me then?” He’d gotten to the back of his head by now. “Willis?”

It took a moment for Daryl to get the reference – following his hyper-masculine prick of a brother around for years meant he’d seen every action movie under the sun twice over. “Worst Christmas movie ever, man. Don’t.”

Paul shook his head with a laugh, stood back, ran his hand through Daryl’s hair. “Alright, you’re good.”

The older man stood, chest heavy. It was fucking ridiculous. He wasn’t vain, concerned by his appearance by any means, but he was worried.

Turns out, Paul had significantly improved the state of his hair. It had long since dried, tousled from the crown of his head. One stray strand fell from his smaller fringe that swept the top of his forehead, above his brow. The breeze at the back of his head was relieving.

He reached a hand up to it, disbelieving. Paul was playing with his hands behind him, eyes trained on Daryl’s reflection. “How do you feel?”

“I don’t know,” But he couldn’t stop the smile teasing his lips, “Thank you.”

He didn’t miss Paul’s sigh of relief. The scout reached out for Daryl’s hand, pulled it up to his lips and pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist.

“You’re welcome.”

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: paulrqvias


End file.
